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Doves In Red

Standing here silently
with the pistol in my hand
my ears are almost certain
of voices from distant lands

They're singing soulful melodies
everyone does love
then glancing back behind me
I see a flock of doves

They are not pure white
as if from new brought sheets
but rather dark, sickly red
as if where two blades meet

It makes me question in my mind
why now ... dark red ... but why?
then as I bend down cowardly
my eyes begin to cry

I straighten up most bravely
ceasing the begun
I stare with love at the pistol
knowing what has to be done

Now as I place the friendly gun
bluntly to my head
I ever so gently pull the trigger ...
so quickly, I am dead.

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